
CMC Sunday Meditations | The Cross and Atonement | Lent 4 | March 22
CMC Sunday Meditations | 22 March 2020 | Lent 4
The Cross and Atonement
As we meet today in spirit but not in person, we gather around these Sunday Meditations offered by members of the CMC community. Just as we light the Peace Candle to begin our worship, you are invited to light a candle for these Meditations. The flame joins us in spirit across distance, along with our sister church in Armenia, Colombia.
Opening Thoughts | Joel Call
I grew up with the picture above. The crude sketch is a basic illustration of the underlying logic of how I was taught to understand Christ’s death on the cross, and how it saves me, i.e., it was my atonement theology for most of my life. “We are separated from God.” The commentary on the drawing would always begin on this fundamental premise. There’s a gap between us and God, and Christ’s sacrifice effectively bridges this primordial gap, making a way for us to commune with the Divine; to be reconciled to God.
Today finds us separated from each other in new, unprecedented ways. In the realities of social distancing and self-quarantining, we find ourselves physically separated from each other. As we continue to figure out what community care looks like in this time, I invite us to question the authority of the “gap,” of the separation pictured in the drawing. What if communion–what if presence–with God, with neighbor, with self, isn’t a distant reality only a cross can bridge? What if being “saved” doesn’t require a bloody execution, but exists as a reality as close as your breath? In a call to your loved ones, a letter of love from a friend, in the gift of groceries?
Song and Children’s Time Video
Song: Let the Mystery Be by Iris DeMent | Jenny Campagna
Children’s Time | Elisa Leahy
CMC Sunday Meditations | The Cross and Redemptive Suffering | Lent 3 | March 15
15 March 2020 | Lent 3
The Cross and Redemptive Suffering
Contents:
A word from Joel
Prayers of the people
Poem: Pandemic, by Lynn Ungar
Sermon/Scriptures/Guided Meditation, by Mark Rupp
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A word from Joel:
Here’s a riddle:
What’s more important than going to a concert, or the library?
What’s more important than going on vacation, flying overseas?
What’s more important than kids going to school and college students attending classes? More important than testing and labs?
What’s more important than the NBA, NHL, MLS, MLB, NCAA, March Madness, high school and youth athletics?
What’s worth risking loss of production, loss of profits, loss of wages? What’s more important than the Dow, the S&P, and the GDP?
What’s more important than Sunday church?
What’s more important than all your well-crafted plans?
Your answer here: ______________________
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Prayers of the People
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Poem
Pandemic
What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.
And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.
Promise this world your love–
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.
–Lynn Ungar 3/11/20
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Meditation
[These non-standard times call for a non-standard approach to worship. To that end, what I’d like to offer is a guided meditation, loosely shaped around the practice of lectio divina with spaces for reflection, time for silent meditation or prayer, and invitations to engage the Word in other ways. Of course you can still choose to read straight through, but…
The cross and the lynching tree | Lent 2 | March 8
https://joelssermons.files.wordpress.com/2020/03/20200308sermon.mp3
Texts: Luke 23:13-25, Acts 5:29-30
In 1999 Time Magazine named its top choices for different categories of the 20th century. The person of the century, according to Time was…Albert Einstein. The most prominent scientist in a century where science was prominent.
In a slightly less consequential category: The best TV show of the century went to The Simpsons. Best film: Citizen Kane. Children’s book: Charlotte’s Web, by EB White. Best comedy routine: “Who’s on first?” by Abbot and Costello.
Best poem of the 20th century: The Wasteland by TS Elliot. Best Album: Bob Marley’s Exodus.
Time Magazine also selected what it considered to be the song of the century. It was first recorded in 1939 by Billie Holiday – A song the BBC suggested might be the most shocking song of all time. “Strange Fruit,” that’s the song. These are the lyrics:
Southern trees bearing strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the roots
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant south
Them big bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolia, clean and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for the leaves to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop
The song of the century is about lynching, first sung within what is considered the lynching era of the US. The strange fruit hanging from the southern trees is people. Specifically, as Billie Holiday sings, black bodies.
The song was indeed a shock to those who heard it. Reactions ranged from silent tears to loud heckling. Radio stations wouldn’t play it, and Holiday’s label, Colombia records, wouldn’t record it. When she toured, she would save it for the last song of the set. …

The Cross and the Stained Glass Window | Lent 1 | March 1
https://joelssermons.files.wordpress.com/2020/03/20200301sermon.mp3
Texts: 1 Corinthians 1:18-20; 2:1-5
Speaker: Joel Miller
The image behind me and on your bulletins is a stained glass window in the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama. That’s the church that was bombed in 1963. It was a Sunday morning in September, and there were about 200 people in the building when the bomb exploded. Four black girls were killed. Addie Mae Collins, age 14. Cynthia Wesley, age 14. Carole Robertson, age 14. Denise McNair, age 11.
The stained glass window was a gift from a Welsh artist. He was so moved by the tragedy that he raised money throughout Wales – especially inviting children to donate – in order to create this window as a permanent installation in the church. It was one of the first public depictions of a black Christ in the deep South.
One of its messages is told in the positioning of the hands. The left hand is held open, a sign of openness, of welcome, of surrender to the will of God. The right hand is held up as if holding off the very forces of evil themselves. A sign of resistance and refusal to have one’s humanity diminished by the hatred and violence directed against it.
Another message is in the writing at the bottom – five words, drawn from Matthew chapter 25. “You do it to me.” That’s the passage where Jesus tells the parable in which both the sheep and the goats learn that whatever they did to “the least of these” they have done it to Christ. Feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and imprisoned. Whatever you have – or haven’t done – to these “You do it to me.”
To have those words beneath a crucified Christ in a church where four girls were murdered…
Kitchen, casket, mountain, mundane | February 23
https://joelssermons.files.wordpress.com/2020/02/20200223sermon.mp3
Texts: Matthew 17:1-13, 2 Peter 1:16-19
Soon after his 27th birthday, a minister in Alabama faced the most fearful day of his young life. He received a phone call around midnight. The person on the other line threatened to bomb his house if he didn’t leave town in the next three days. Also in the house were the minister’s wife and their baby daughter.
Less than two months prior he had been selected to lead the first ever large-scale demonstration against racial segregation in the US. A fellow leader later reflected that the advantage of choosing him as leader was that he was so new to the city and this kind of struggle that he “hadn’t been there long enough to make any strong friends or enemies.”
But now he had made enemies, and he knew that the threat against him and his family was real.
After hanging up the phone he was overcome with fear. He couldn’t sleep. He got up from his bed and went to the kitchen. He prayed out loud: “Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right…But Lord I must confess that I’m weak now, I’m faulting, I’m losing my courage.” In the stillness of the dark kitchen, he heard a voice come back at him: “Martin, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And lo I will be with you, even to the end of the world.” (1)
This was Montgomery, January 1956, and it was Martin and Coretta, and little Yolanda King in that house. Rosa Parks had already refused to give up her seat on the bus. She was the leader who said King was a good choice because he had neither friend nor enemy in town, yet.
The Montgomery bus boycott is frequently referenced as the event that launched…